[she is sure she has made an appointment for today. someone must have asked her to help out in the greenhouse or with catching a special kind of fish or maybe to even consider taste-testing a new recipe. byleth is sure of it, yet it escapes her mind as she traverses the grounds of the monastery in some kind of hurry. she sees her students, now comrades in arms in this war, standing about but none of them spark a sense of recognition... until she reaches dimitri.]
[it's the blue that catches her eye first, and she's hurrying to him with a rather strained expression―]
[without much of a word, she raises the satin ribbon onto his chestplate, her expression that of intense concentration as she stares at it, almost daring it to speak that it does not, in fact, belong to this person. it might belong to someone else, a previous pupil who has taken another side in this war, and the thought itself frustrates her as much as it upsets her.]
Definitely not.
[a low mutter to herself, taking the ribbon back and putting it in her bag of lost items.]
[it's only then that she looks up at dimitri. maybe it was the cloak which made her immediately gravitate towards him? or maybe it was―]
[that's the appointment she had completely forgotten about, so busy with needing to find the owner of the ribbon and feeling frustrated about still having it in her possession.]
[She is difficult to miss, Dimitri thinks, and he can never be sure if it is the bright, unusual color of her hair, or the determination behind her walk, that draws his attention to her. Small frame not withstanding, there had always been something magnetizing about Byleth, a truth he’s accepted ever since the day they met — just young students seeking protection from bandits on that fateful evening that brought her into the service of Garreg Mach.
Maybe it’s something altogether different, an aura that he’ll never be able to quantify or pin down. As she makes a beeline through the cathedral, each step echoing through once-hallowed halls, he doesn’t think he’ll ever know exactly what it is.
But that mysterious something is headed right in his direction today.
He blinks, turning to face her properly, and on instinct straightens (five years’ habit of sloping his shoulders inward while alone, unapproachable body language, was hard to break) like he has a rod in his back when she’s near. What could she want? Has she news of a new development in the war? Her attention is definitely saved for him right now, and some silly part of him sucks in breath with the tiniest spark of anticipatory anxiety—
And then he sees the ribbon. —ah.]
Professor...
[He has been through this before, though the effort reminds him more of his days as a seventeen year-old. Some things never change, and the Professor’s determination to usher lost items back to their owners is one of them. He can’t stop this attempt — he knows it, even as she presses that ribbon against his armor and scrutinizes it with a frown.]
Sorry, Professor, that isn’t mine. [He adds, confirming what she’s already figured out. She looks up at him, like she has something more to say, and Dimitri appears expectant. ???? what is it, Byleth.... your ex-students never know until you blurt it out half the time.
Training, though! He nods at her, assuredly.]
Oh, yes. I had not forgotten. [Dimitri has remembered; training with the professor is a welcome activity, one that he has looked forward to often when it’s his “turn” on whatever schedule she’s made up in her head.]
Swords today, correct? Will it just be you and me?
[she nods in return at him, a slight smile on her expression as he confirms that she had remembered right. byleth likes dimitri; he's very proper and knows his ways with words in a way that is encouraging, even when there is nothing to be encouraging about. it is honestly one of the things that gave her confidence when stepping up as a mentor for the blue lions pupils—otherwise, she is sure it would have been a more anxious experience.]
I believe so.
[tilting her head to the side in thought, she believes that the others are otherwise occupied in other activities for their efforts towards the war. and while it's quite the spectacle to see both byleth and dimitri engaged in training exercises, it is better if the space is left unoccupied. as a precaution.]
Are you free to go now? The early bird gets the worm.
[sometimes...the way she dishes out her nuggets of wisdom is...odd.]
[Now? Unexpected, and maybe if he had been able to prepare himself better, Dimitri would be able to temper his reply to sound a bit less eager.]
Right now? Right now should be fine, I am not doing anything of particular import at the moment.
[You know, just standing here next to this pile of rubble in the cathedral, contemplating the reality of war.]
Shall we go, then? [He swallows and gestures towards the exit of the cathedral itself, ready to follow. Steadying his breath, which has always been a growing effort when she’s near — a reality that he is not quite certain what to do about, but he can mull more on that later after their training session.
Once they start ambling on—] By the way, I… ah. I do not think you will find the owner of that ribbon here.
[the cathedral echoes with their steps, as they make their way towards the bridge that connects it to the rest of the monastery. while the sky is bright, dimitri's words put a damper to it. it isn't that his words are unwanted but, rather, they are a truth that byleth wished to ignore for however long she could.]
[while five long years have passed for her once-pupils, for her it was nothing short of waking up from a long sleep, as if no time at all had passed.]
Mm.
[her reply is short, her expression slightly pinched.]
I was hopeful that I would.
[it feels like a failing, to not have completed a simple a task as this one, even when she couldn't have predicted what would have happened to set them all in different paths. she looks up at the sun, the light painting her eyes an even brighter green―and then they turn towards dimitri, and her hand moves forward, palm up.]
[He wonders if he should have said anything. If he should have let Byleth search — just for a while longer — instead of snatching away that hope. He feels terrible for it, watching her countenance fall just a small bit. His eye trails to the bag she carries, and he wonders just how many items are in it. Just how many belong to old students now entrenched on the other side of the war.
His experience is different than hers. Five years were unkind to him, and they passed so slowly, left its scars mentally and physically on his form, but the Professor— He cannot imagine what it must be like to wake up and to find the whole world changed, and all the people you cared for changed with it. Like unearthing oneself from a dream.
No, he should have let her look for that owner of the ribbon, for just a little longer.]
I—
[He had opened his mouth to correct himself, to offer some kind of comfort if he could manage, but she’s suddenly offering her hand to him, palm-up.]
My hand?
[He asks, even as he’s already offering his own to her. It’s a habit at this point, isn’t it? She’s always reaching out to him, and finally, he’s learned to grasp it in return. Self-awareness comes later, but instinct and trust move him first, knowing that same hand has acted as his lifeline, has saved his life on countless occasions.]
Forgive me, Professor, I was not trying to upset you. [-the addendum is quickly latched on to reflect his prior thoughts.]
[he takes his hand and leaves her palm open, her eyes studying over the black gloves that wrap around his fingers. she remembers having returned gloves to him, five years ago, after he had lost them. obviously these ones are not the same, and this although little serves as a reminder that while some lost items will remain forever lost—both physically and int heir sentimentality to their owners—at least she was able to reach some of those in her care. it is a reminder that she succeeded, even if she feels like she failed those who are not in the monastery.]
[her father would perhaps tease her at a time like this, say that she's grown too soft in the face of those she has been entrusted with.]
[maybe so.]
You spoke the truth, Dimitri. I didn't want to consider the reality of how things are.
[she lets his hand go, gently, and she keeps looking forward as they reach the mouth of the monastery's entrance.]
[He watches her expression as she examines his hand, and the size difference between them is so very prominent. His is calloused and scarred beneath that black material, and hers appear so delicately unmarred. Fingers and palm untouched by the cut of steel in battle, as if driven off by nothing more than sheer willpower.
It is another thing impressive about her, he realizes, in a long list of admirations that have grown since the day they met. Even when he was still angry and lost, he would watch her in battle — watch her sword cut through enemy lines as she practically flew through them. Byleth represented the grace of assuredness found in strength; and he was little more than blunt-force rage, covered in blood and sin, a forceful imitation of true prowess compared to her. It had frustrated him at the time, oddly enough. And the kindness she showed him outside of battle, more so. He did not believe he deserved it, not from someone like her.
Sometimes, he still doesn’t.
Belatedly, his realizes his heart has beat all the way up to his throat, and his breathing once again requires cognizant effort to remember to do it, and he suddenly shudders out a breath when she lets go, like time is moving forward again without warning.]
You have done so much for me. For everyone here. It’s unfair to ask you not to remember those who used to walk these halls.
[Even Dimitri sometimes finds himself lost in those memories, halcyon days.]
It would be counter to your demeanor, always wanting to help, always concerned for the state of those around you. It is one thing of many that I admire about you.
[the smile that byleth offers up towards him after his words is sincere. he paints a lovely picture of her, and isn't sure she should be allowed to accept them. and yet she does, because if she has learned anything at all in her short time in the monastery and since is that friendship and camaraderie is born from the most human of places. being here, meeting all these people, meeting dimitri has taught her valuable lessons.]
[to be seen as someone to be admired... it warms her with a feeling of fondness.]
Your kind words will not stop me from teaching you a new way to lose as we spar.
[it's laced with humor, a teasing feature that shows when she feels waves of happiness go through her in ways the cleave through her otherwise indifferent and blank demeanor.]
[It wasn’t quite the answer he was expecting, but the Professor always surprises him, that teasing tone a bright point in a conversation that threatened to turn too dour, too contemplative.
He actually smiles as they walk into a far more open area, chuckling lightly at the jab. There are weapon racks nearby — for practice, of course — ready to be picked for their sparring session. Apparently they are not the only ones who thought this area might be good for sparring out-of-sight and out-of-the-way.]
While I know you still have much to teach me, do not forget that I have grown stronger in these five years, too.
[For all the flaws he picked up in that time, one cannot deny the growth of Dimitri’s overall… physicality. Brightened a little by her tone, his step to claim a sword from the rack is eager. He turns to her again.]
I will not lose to you today, Professor. You will see.
[all that byleth does at the returning jabs is smile, never uttering a word. dimitri speaks the truth that he has grown much stronger, but she has also seen him when he fights and has been able to see the errors that leave him open and vulnerable.]
[she, too, takes a sword from the rack and puts down the items on her person that would otherwise detract from her movements.]
Yes, let's see.
[these are the words she offers him before they begin their training. she takes a moment to give him a few pointers on his stance, on his hold of the sword, and the general movements he implements when swinging the blade. soon enough it is time for them to spar, and although a lot more challenging than five years ago, it sure looks like...]
[...dimitri is with his back on the ground, the training sword's tip at his throat, and byleth's boot on his chest.]
[she breathes heavily from the exertion, looking down at him with a sly, little smile.]
[He had cultivated a reputation for taking down multiple targets by himself. They would fling himself at him, one at a time, driven by desperation, and he would shear past their armor, crush his enemies in the order they offered themselves up to him. In many cases, driven by anger, it had been easy in those not-so-far-off days. And while not bolstered by rage today, his skill remains, and his confidence in a fight is relatively unshakeable.
Unless squaring off against Byleth, apparently.
She reads him so… easily. Knows of his weaknesses that he overcompensates for — the blindness in his right eye, therefore shifting defensive anytime she goes for that side — and takes advantage of them without hesitation. It is like nothing has changed between them; like for a moment, he is still seventeen and eagerly learning, while she teaches him with the confidence of someone far more apt.
And defeats him just as soundly, too.]
Hngh-!
[That’s the only noise that escapes him as his back crashes into the ground, sword slipping from his hands. Any attempt to sit up is quelled by her boot pressed against his chest, and Dimitri looks up at her, surprised.
She stands there, sweat glistening on her features, face framed by seafoam hair, smiling down at him. He is dumbfounded (moonstruck) by the way the sun casts itself against her; it reminds him of when she cleaved through space itself, touched by the goddess, landing before them with such a power at her back.
Dimitri was momentarily speechless then, and there’s something inscrutable about this sight that renders him useless now. So, eloquently—]
[their progress into a relationship is, by all means, a glacial pace kind of commitment. with the war moving along as it does, losses in the battlefield and drawing ever closer to a conclusion that makes all of them restless, there has been a kind of solace found in quiet talks and shared fears and holding each other tight. byleth isn't sure she does very well at expressing how much it means to her—dimitri's almost blind trust towards her and the way his gaze softens when their eyes meet.]
[and while little is questioned in terms of who grows closer with whom, byleth finds solace in knowing that her feelings are very much returned, and that those around her jest and tease dimitri, confirming that yes, in fact, this much is true.]
[ghosts and regrets still haunt the young king to be, however, and byleth is familiar with nightmares that seem too real. she witnesses her beloved's desperate thrashing in his sleep far too often, and tonight, while sleep escapes her, she is not surprised to see him walking about the monastery—his expression that of a man lost, mumbling to himself.]
Dimitri.
[she calls quietly, but loud enough to be heard in the courtyard, and makes her way towards him—a hand immediately seeking his own, concern on her face.]
Can't sleep?
[the answer is clear, but she wishes to give him the opportunity to says what he wishes and keep locked away what he wants.]
[Though he has promised to no longer be chained to the ghosts of the dead, they still choose to haunt him some nights.
As the war continues, battles culminating and climbing towards to the apex of its end, stress and exhaustion is felt across the Kingdom’s ranks. Dimitri feels it just as poignantly as the rest, if not more, and this invites the headaches to become more prominent, to hear and see fragments of the dead after he wakes from harried nightmares.
The chilled, outdoor air of the monastery is a distraction on nights like these. Even when ghosts tail his step from afar, and he has to tell them, in low tones, to leave him be. That he will not be tied to their insatiable will any longer.
But one voice rings brighter in the night, from across the courtyard and pulling his attention in Byleth’s direction. His look, tired and stressed, softens immediately. His hand seeks her own on instinct, drawing her close to him.]
Professor... no, I cannot. Dreams and headaches keep me awake tonight. And bone-deep exhaustion.
[The dead, too, if she had heard his mumblings. But ever one to care more about her than himself, of course he asks—]
And yourself? It is late, and impossibly cold out. You should be warm in your bed.
[her worry is prominent on her face where her words are lacking, frowning at his admission that his head is swarmed with too much noise to allow himself easy rest. she only needs to see his expression before realizing just how bad it really is.]
I wanted to see you.
[it's more than that, clearly. byleth's worry kept her awake, aware of the torment and pressure dimitri must be under. if she can provide him solace, even if temporary, then she can rest easier that way. it would soothe her own nerves, too, to be at his side, as it has become a customary feeling at this point.]
[she looks up at him.]
Let's sit together.
[forceful she remains, despite their more obvious affections for one another, as she leads the way towards the greenhouse. he worries over how cold she may feel, and she's aware that being away from the confines of his room will help him seek solace from his nightmares. the greenhouse offers a happy middle point.]
[He never really has the willpower to deny her. And on a night like this one, a bad night with too many things crowding his head, it is easy to follow Byleth’s lead. Tugged along by the hand, he gives hers a gentle squeeze as they move towards the greenhouse — a sign of quiet gratitude.
The interior of the greenhouse is well-lit no matter the time of day or night, and this illumination greets them as they enter. It’s warmer, too, as expected. A little humid, but better than the bite of the outside air to those unused to it.
He looks at her profile as they walk, seeing tired lines mar even her features. Dimitri is sorry for it, and ever sorry to make her worry on top of all the other responsibilities she has in this war. She gives so much of herself, and he wonders how she can be so strong for all of them. Byleth truly must possess some divine manner of strength, unyielding even under the weight of her own pressures.
A little bench, hiding under the eaves of a large plant with elephant-ear leaves, is as good of a place as any to sit. When they do, Dimitri feels a pang between his eyes, and brings a hand up to pinch at the bridge of his nose.]
I should ask for one night of uninterrupted sleep, but I think I will be denied it until the end of the war.
[soon as she sits, byleth is leaning forward just so she can look into dimitri's face. he hides away behind a hand that attempts to ease the pain of a likely migraine away. she reaches up — her hand over his — in an attempt to be soothing.]
[she... is not sure of what to say, truth be told. sleeping has never been much of an issue for her, but rather the opposite, at times, meaning that she slept quicker and easier than others. unless she decided to deny herself of it, of course.]
There is much on your shoulders. Everyone is on edge and restless the closer we draw to Enbarr.
[it hangs over them, like a swinging guillotine in the dark. they don't know when exactly it will strike, but they know that it will come down on them at some point. that doesn't really help at all, for as much as they are preparing themselves.]
[her hand drops and rests, instead, on his lap.]
Dimitri, [softly] what if you shared your pain? When restless over a job, my father would speak a lot of it the days leading up to it. At the time I thought it was him being old and silly [haha] but now I see he simply voiced his troubles.
[it's somewhat sad, in retrospect, just how much more she has learned about caring and compassion, now that she's been surrounded by people who admire her and love her. she wishes she could have had a chance to have this kind of newfound sympathy when speaking with jeralt.]
Allow me to share the weight you carry. [a light smile] I am strong enough to carry you, as you know.
[He feels her touch, always a welcome sensation. Dimitri drops his hand down, on top of hers when it rests in his lap, and gives her a fond, sidelong glance. A huff of amusement escapes his lips.]
And yet I was the first to ever carry you, though perhaps you do not remember it.
[Five years ago, when she had passed out after battle — a memory that will never loose itself from his head.
But that was the exception rather than the rule, wasn’t it? She had always been the pillar of the support, not just for himself, but for everyone. Even now, she is the one sitting here, wanting to hear about the ugliness of his nightmares. Whatever form their relationship has started to take, this much has always stayed the same.]
My pain... it is always the same, though. The same nightmares of Duscur, the royal camp set on fire and men swooping in to kill everyone. [He closes his eye, head pulsing again.] The same ghosts that haunt me after I awaken; I see them at a distance now, and they are only fleeting compared to before, yet they are there. I can feel their eyes on my back when they are not.
[He has decided to walk forward, past the skeletons, but many still cling to the footsteps left behind.]
You used to be one of them. Did you know that? If I did not dream of that day, which was rare, I dreamt of other faces lost to me. You, too, looked at me with scornful eyes while I slept.
[Unlike how she looks at him now, in reality, something he could lose himself in if he really tried. Dimitri leans in, instinctively seeking that closeness, until their shoulders touch.]
[byleth ends up putting an arm around his waist when he does lean into her, pressing her head to him in some form of embrace. like this, and her hand under his, she feels a sense of intimacy that belongs to no one but them — no one else gets to be as close to dimitri, and it makes her want to protect him even more, to envelop him with the certainty that while not everything may be fixed, there is room for peace and calm.]
Nightmares are fears we try not to give a name to while we are awake. I could never look at you with hate, even if our paths weren't aligned together.
[this much she knows as truth — despite her obvious feelings for him, now.]
You are the only one left.
[how many had they lost in this war? even those close to dimitri, like rodrigue, a fatherly figure. he was always alone from the start, and even now it must feel like he's piling up more and more deaths for his own sake. she turns her head upwards, to glance at him, still pressed into him—her bangs messy under his chin.]
Many have done what they have because they love you. They do not seek your demise.
[He accepts the embrace like it was the only thing he needs; like his form was meant to perfectly slot against her own.
Byleth’s words comfort him, just as much as they shear through his heart.]
I do not deserve that love or kindness. I have so much blood on my hands.
[He is trying to make it all right again, but guilt is not something so easily swept away. It has motivated him in different forms throughout his lifetime — the same happens now, that guilt fueling his redemption. He exhales, a shaky thing.]
Maybe that is what bothers me the most.
[But in moments like these, he feels he can breathe. In her presence, maybe he can allow himself a small amount of reprieve. A tiny mote of selfishness.
It’s this thought that has him making a decision: to shift so that he’s lying on his side on the bench with his head in her lap. It works as a transition in the conversation, too, seeking out comfort from her where he can grant himself none.]
But you always make me feel... better. You are the best kind of distraction for a broken mind like my own. [Maybe she cannot see it, but his smile is rueful.]
Tell me of a story, from before we met. There is still so much of you that I do not know about.
[she adjusts to the shift, removing her hands from him momentarily to allow him to rest his head on her lap. she appreciates when he does these things—an open show of vulnerability, and that despite his most hardened words that he himself seeks for comfort though he believes himself unworthy of such a thing.]
[she rests a hand over his side while the other lands on his head, brushing his hair back with light, feather-like touches.]
[her smile is small.]
[tell me a story, he says. byleth wants to refute back his previous statement, of how there is so much blood on his hands. there is just as much on her own, too, from when she was a mercenary. no one in this war was saintlier than any other.]
Would you like to know about when I was a kid?
[the memories... are painful, filled with regret. sometimes she wishes she could have cherished the times she spent with her father better, devoid of the apathy that she grew up with, with the indifference of having such a renown father figure that everyone wished to impress.]
[so she begins, light and gentle with her words.] I learned how to ride a horse when I was around eight. I always saw my father on one, and I wanted to be just like him. But — you know, I was even smaller back then. [her height and jeralt's never quite matched] So, he got me a pony. Bumkin, because I couldn't really pronounce Pumpkin right.
It made him laugh every time I rode past him in 'Bumkin,' most likely yelling out of fear from how fast I was going.
[byleth keeps brushing his blond hair gently, but swallows thickly.]
My growing up was a blur of days. [she thinks] If there is... anything specific you want to know about, you can ask.
[Of course he wants to know. He wants to know everything about her; Byleth’s air of mystery had always extended to her past. A mercenary with such skill, the daughter of a practically legendary ex-Knight of Seiros. What was it like, growing up in such a way? So sheltered from the rest of the world, knowing what he knows of her?
The sensation of her fingers running through his hair, brushing stray strands aside, is calming. Dimitri closes his eye, kept still by her warmth.]
I can imagine it well. You, galloping alongside your father while mounted on your faithful pony.
[He’s smiling more sincerely now. It really is an amusing thought, trying to imagine her so small, still learning.]
I was even younger when I rode my first horse. Many children in Faerghus are taught how to ride and wield a sword before they also learn how to write — royalty was especially no exception. My father… [It’s difficult, sometimes, speaking about happier times so openly. But just as Byleth shared with him, he will do the same. It’s only fair.] My father placed me atop a warhorse. I was terrified, it was so large, I clung to its mane the entire time he led it around the stables, reassuring me that it would be all right. That riding was in my blood, like so much else in the Blaiddyd line.
[He pauses, letting that settle. Memories weighing deeply on both of them.]
Your father taught you how to wield a sword too, didn’t he? Did you take to it with ease?
[ever wonder why byleth rather be on foot, even if being on a horse would be that much more convenient in terms of saving her energy and being quick about her trips? some things just never change.]
[it's great, she thinks, to hear dimitri speak openly about his own memories of the past, as difficult as they are. the tragedy in duscur made conversations about his father and family a seldom affair, but since they're both sharing — it really is only fair.]
[and while happy it is a memory, it makes byleth... pause.]
[it seems like their pasts and present has been marred with responsibility and bloodshed and just what it means to walk the path set before them. she sees it even now, as dimitri will be crowned king and she will undoubtedly ascend to archbishop of the church of seiros. being taught to wield a sword, the blood that has covered the blades she's wielded, her own inability at saving her father although she could turn back time. she wishes for happier times, together.]
[with a small sigh and a nod, she keeps her face down to look at him, a sad look in her eyes.]
After all this is over, will you be at my side? I—
[she hesitates, closing her mouth and lips a thin line as she tries to find the words.]
[Silence overcomes the greenhouse for a few moments. It is indicative of thought, and he is used to them from Byleth, so Dimitri waits patiently for a response.
When it comes, he opens his eye again, brow pinching. Her train of thought has taken her elsewhere, and while he often struggles to make the connections to follow, it’s far easier this time. Speaking of the past always leads to how one wants it to affect the future — he would know this better than anyone, now.
He shifts, turning to lay on his back. From this angle, he can see her face, gazing up at her with consideration. Her features are cast against the warm illumination of the greenhouse.]
Byleth. [In this moment, the title is dropped. No longer Professor and ex-student, or king-to-be and his loyal comrade and irreplaceable friend. Just Dimitri and Byleth, an intimacy between them that carves out this familiarity.] I do not plan on ever being without you. I…
[I want to make a happy life — with you. His heart may burst.]
You make me happy. Now, just being close with you like this; that is all it takes. From here on out, this will not change. [And yet, this is not just about him, it has not been for a long time now.] But I wish to be strong enough for you, as well. I want to make you happy. Make you laugh. I want to chase after your smile in every way possible. You have done so much for me, and I— I want to be able to return the favor.
If it is happiness you want, I will offer every part of myself to create it for you. It is what you deserve, and more.
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finalflight2019-11-15 01:54 am
no subject
[it's the blue that catches her eye first, and she's hurrying to him with a rather strained expression―]
[without much of a word, she raises the satin ribbon onto his chestplate, her expression that of intense concentration as she stares at it, almost daring it to speak that it does not, in fact, belong to this person. it might belong to someone else, a previous pupil who has taken another side in this war, and the thought itself frustrates her as much as it upsets her.]
Definitely not.
[a low mutter to herself, taking the ribbon back and putting it in her bag of lost items.]
[it's only then that she looks up at dimitri. maybe it was the cloak which made her immediately gravitate towards him? or maybe it was―]
no subject
We are training today.
[that's the appointment she had completely forgotten about, so busy with needing to find the owner of the ribbon and feeling frustrated about still having it in her possession.]
no subject
Maybe it’s something altogether different, an aura that he’ll never be able to quantify or pin down. As she makes a beeline through the cathedral, each step echoing through once-hallowed halls, he doesn’t think he’ll ever know exactly what it is.
But that mysterious something is headed right in his direction today.
He blinks, turning to face her properly, and on instinct straightens (five years’ habit of sloping his shoulders inward while alone, unapproachable body language, was hard to break) like he has a rod in his back when she’s near. What could she want? Has she news of a new development in the war? Her attention is definitely saved for him right now, and some silly part of him sucks in breath with the tiniest spark of anticipatory anxiety—
And then he sees the ribbon. —ah.]
Professor...
[He has been through this before, though the effort reminds him more of his days as a seventeen year-old. Some things never change, and the Professor’s determination to usher lost items back to their owners is one of them. He can’t stop this attempt — he knows it, even as she presses that ribbon against his armor and scrutinizes it with a frown.]
Sorry, Professor, that isn’t mine. [He adds, confirming what she’s already figured out. She looks up at him, like she has something more to say, and Dimitri appears expectant. ???? what is it, Byleth.... your ex-students never know until you blurt it out half the time.
Training, though! He nods at her, assuredly.]
Oh, yes. I had not forgotten. [Dimitri has remembered; training with the professor is a welcome activity, one that he has looked forward to often when it’s his “turn” on whatever schedule she’s made up in her head.]
Swords today, correct? Will it just be you and me?
no subject
I believe so.
[tilting her head to the side in thought, she believes that the others are otherwise occupied in other activities for their efforts towards the war. and while it's quite the spectacle to see both byleth and dimitri engaged in training exercises, it is better if the space is left unoccupied. as a precaution.]
Are you free to go now? The early bird gets the worm.
[sometimes...the way she dishes out her nuggets of wisdom is...odd.]
We can walk to the training grounds together.
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Right now? Right now should be fine, I am not doing anything of particular import at the moment.
[You know, just standing here next to this pile of rubble in the cathedral, contemplating the reality of war.]
Shall we go, then? [He swallows and gestures towards the exit of the cathedral itself, ready to follow. Steadying his breath, which has always been a growing effort when she’s near — a reality that he is not quite certain what to do about, but he can mull more on that later after their training session.
Once they start ambling on—] By the way, I… ah. I do not think you will find the owner of that ribbon here.
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[while five long years have passed for her once-pupils, for her it was nothing short of waking up from a long sleep, as if no time at all had passed.]
Mm.
[her reply is short, her expression slightly pinched.]
I was hopeful that I would.
[it feels like a failing, to not have completed a simple a task as this one, even when she couldn't have predicted what would have happened to set them all in different paths. she looks up at the sun, the light painting her eyes an even brighter green―and then they turn towards dimitri, and her hand moves forward, palm up.]
Can I have your hand?
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His experience is different than hers. Five years were unkind to him, and they passed so slowly, left its scars mentally and physically on his form, but the Professor— He cannot imagine what it must be like to wake up and to find the whole world changed, and all the people you cared for changed with it. Like unearthing oneself from a dream.
No, he should have let her look for that owner of the ribbon, for just a little longer.]
I—
[He had opened his mouth to correct himself, to offer some kind of comfort if he could manage, but she’s suddenly offering her hand to him, palm-up.]
My hand?
[He asks, even as he’s already offering his own to her. It’s a habit at this point, isn’t it? She’s always reaching out to him, and finally, he’s learned to grasp it in return. Self-awareness comes later, but instinct and trust move him first, knowing that same hand has acted as his lifeline, has saved his life on countless occasions.]
Forgive me, Professor, I was not trying to upset you. [-the addendum is quickly latched on to reflect his prior thoughts.]
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[her father would perhaps tease her at a time like this, say that she's grown too soft in the face of those she has been entrusted with.]
[maybe so.]
You spoke the truth, Dimitri. I didn't want to consider the reality of how things are.
[she lets his hand go, gently, and she keeps looking forward as they reach the mouth of the monastery's entrance.]
I must focus on those who are with me now.
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It is another thing impressive about her, he realizes, in a long list of admirations that have grown since the day they met. Even when he was still angry and lost, he would watch her in battle — watch her sword cut through enemy lines as she practically flew through them. Byleth represented the grace of assuredness found in strength; and he was little more than blunt-force rage, covered in blood and sin, a forceful imitation of true prowess compared to her. It had frustrated him at the time, oddly enough. And the kindness she showed him outside of battle, more so. He did not believe he deserved it, not from someone like her.
Sometimes, he still doesn’t.
Belatedly, his realizes his heart has beat all the way up to his throat, and his breathing once again requires cognizant effort to remember to do it, and he suddenly shudders out a breath when she lets go, like time is moving forward again without warning.]
You have done so much for me. For everyone here. It’s unfair to ask you not to remember those who used to walk these halls.
[Even Dimitri sometimes finds himself lost in those memories, halcyon days.]
It would be counter to your demeanor, always wanting to help, always concerned for the state of those around you. It is one thing of many that I admire about you.
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[to be seen as someone to be admired... it warms her with a feeling of fondness.]
Your kind words will not stop me from teaching you a new way to lose as we spar.
[it's laced with humor, a teasing feature that shows when she feels waves of happiness go through her in ways the cleave through her otherwise indifferent and blank demeanor.]
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He actually smiles as they walk into a far more open area, chuckling lightly at the jab. There are weapon racks nearby — for practice, of course — ready to be picked for their sparring session. Apparently they are not the only ones who thought this area might be good for sparring out-of-sight and out-of-the-way.]
While I know you still have much to teach me, do not forget that I have grown stronger in these five years, too.
[For all the flaws he picked up in that time, one cannot deny the growth of Dimitri’s overall… physicality. Brightened a little by her tone, his step to claim a sword from the rack is eager. He turns to her again.]
I will not lose to you today, Professor. You will see.
[Spoiler: he probably loses.]
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[she, too, takes a sword from the rack and puts down the items on her person that would otherwise detract from her movements.]
Yes, let's see.
[these are the words she offers him before they begin their training. she takes a moment to give him a few pointers on his stance, on his hold of the sword, and the general movements he implements when swinging the blade. soon enough it is time for them to spar, and although a lot more challenging than five years ago, it sure looks like...]
[...dimitri is with his back on the ground, the training sword's tip at his throat, and byleth's boot on his chest.]
[she breathes heavily from the exertion, looking down at him with a sly, little smile.]
Do you concede defeat?
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Unless squaring off against Byleth, apparently.
She reads him so… easily. Knows of his weaknesses that he overcompensates for — the blindness in his right eye, therefore shifting defensive anytime she goes for that side — and takes advantage of them without hesitation. It is like nothing has changed between them; like for a moment, he is still seventeen and eagerly learning, while she teaches him with the confidence of someone far more apt.
And defeats him just as soundly, too.]
Hngh-!
[That’s the only noise that escapes him as his back crashes into the ground, sword slipping from his hands. Any attempt to sit up is quelled by her boot pressed against his chest, and Dimitri looks up at her, surprised.
She stands there, sweat glistening on her features, face framed by seafoam hair, smiling down at him. He is dumbfounded (moonstruck) by the way the sun casts itself against her; it reminds him of when she cleaved through space itself, touched by the goddess, landing before them with such a power at her back.
Dimitri was momentarily speechless then, and there’s something inscrutable about this sight that renders him useless now. So, eloquently—]
You… ah…
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[and while little is questioned in terms of who grows closer with whom, byleth finds solace in knowing that her feelings are very much returned, and that those around her jest and tease dimitri, confirming that yes, in fact, this much is true.]
[ghosts and regrets still haunt the young king to be, however, and byleth is familiar with nightmares that seem too real. she witnesses her beloved's desperate thrashing in his sleep far too often, and tonight, while sleep escapes her, she is not surprised to see him walking about the monastery—his expression that of a man lost, mumbling to himself.]
Dimitri.
[she calls quietly, but loud enough to be heard in the courtyard, and makes her way towards him—a hand immediately seeking his own, concern on her face.]
Can't sleep?
[the answer is clear, but she wishes to give him the opportunity to says what he wishes and keep locked away what he wants.]
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As the war continues, battles culminating and climbing towards to the apex of its end, stress and exhaustion is felt across the Kingdom’s ranks. Dimitri feels it just as poignantly as the rest, if not more, and this invites the headaches to become more prominent, to hear and see fragments of the dead after he wakes from harried nightmares.
The chilled, outdoor air of the monastery is a distraction on nights like these. Even when ghosts tail his step from afar, and he has to tell them, in low tones, to leave him be. That he will not be tied to their insatiable will any longer.
But one voice rings brighter in the night, from across the courtyard and pulling his attention in Byleth’s direction. His look, tired and stressed, softens immediately. His hand seeks her own on instinct, drawing her close to him.]
Professor... no, I cannot. Dreams and headaches keep me awake tonight. And bone-deep exhaustion.
[The dead, too, if she had heard his mumblings. But ever one to care more about her than himself, of course he asks—]
And yourself? It is late, and impossibly cold out. You should be warm in your bed.
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I wanted to see you.
[it's more than that, clearly. byleth's worry kept her awake, aware of the torment and pressure dimitri must be under. if she can provide him solace, even if temporary, then she can rest easier that way. it would soothe her own nerves, too, to be at his side, as it has become a customary feeling at this point.]
[she looks up at him.]
Let's sit together.
[forceful she remains, despite their more obvious affections for one another, as she leads the way towards the greenhouse. he worries over how cold she may feel, and she's aware that being away from the confines of his room will help him seek solace from his nightmares. the greenhouse offers a happy middle point.]
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The interior of the greenhouse is well-lit no matter the time of day or night, and this illumination greets them as they enter. It’s warmer, too, as expected. A little humid, but better than the bite of the outside air to those unused to it.
He looks at her profile as they walk, seeing tired lines mar even her features. Dimitri is sorry for it, and ever sorry to make her worry on top of all the other responsibilities she has in this war. She gives so much of herself, and he wonders how she can be so strong for all of them. Byleth truly must possess some divine manner of strength, unyielding even under the weight of her own pressures.
A little bench, hiding under the eaves of a large plant with elephant-ear leaves, is as good of a place as any to sit. When they do, Dimitri feels a pang between his eyes, and brings a hand up to pinch at the bridge of his nose.]
I should ask for one night of uninterrupted sleep, but I think I will be denied it until the end of the war.
[If even then, he wonders.]
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[she... is not sure of what to say, truth be told. sleeping has never been much of an issue for her, but rather the opposite, at times, meaning that she slept quicker and easier than others. unless she decided to deny herself of it, of course.]
There is much on your shoulders. Everyone is on edge and restless the closer we draw to Enbarr.
[it hangs over them, like a swinging guillotine in the dark. they don't know when exactly it will strike, but they know that it will come down on them at some point. that doesn't really help at all, for as much as they are preparing themselves.]
[her hand drops and rests, instead, on his lap.]
Dimitri, [softly] what if you shared your pain? When restless over a job, my father would speak a lot of it the days leading up to it. At the time I thought it was him being old and silly [haha] but now I see he simply voiced his troubles.
[it's somewhat sad, in retrospect, just how much more she has learned about caring and compassion, now that she's been surrounded by people who admire her and love her. she wishes she could have had a chance to have this kind of newfound sympathy when speaking with jeralt.]
Allow me to share the weight you carry. [a light smile] I am strong enough to carry you, as you know.
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And yet I was the first to ever carry you, though perhaps you do not remember it.
[Five years ago, when she had passed out after battle — a memory that will never loose itself from his head.
But that was the exception rather than the rule, wasn’t it? She had always been the pillar of the support, not just for himself, but for everyone. Even now, she is the one sitting here, wanting to hear about the ugliness of his nightmares. Whatever form their relationship has started to take, this much has always stayed the same.]
My pain... it is always the same, though. The same nightmares of Duscur, the royal camp set on fire and men swooping in to kill everyone. [He closes his eye, head pulsing again.] The same ghosts that haunt me after I awaken; I see them at a distance now, and they are only fleeting compared to before, yet they are there. I can feel their eyes on my back when they are not.
[He has decided to walk forward, past the skeletons, but many still cling to the footsteps left behind.]
You used to be one of them. Did you know that? If I did not dream of that day, which was rare, I dreamt of other faces lost to me. You, too, looked at me with scornful eyes while I slept.
[Unlike how she looks at him now, in reality, something he could lose himself in if he really tried. Dimitri leans in, instinctively seeking that closeness, until their shoulders touch.]
I am glad it was never the reality.
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Nightmares are fears we try not to give a name to while we are awake. I could never look at you with hate, even if our paths weren't aligned together.
[this much she knows as truth — despite her obvious feelings for him, now.]
You are the only one left.
[how many had they lost in this war? even those close to dimitri, like rodrigue, a fatherly figure. he was always alone from the start, and even now it must feel like he's piling up more and more deaths for his own sake. she turns her head upwards, to glance at him, still pressed into him—her bangs messy under his chin.]
Many have done what they have because they love you. They do not seek your demise.
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Byleth’s words comfort him, just as much as they shear through his heart.]
I do not deserve that love or kindness. I have so much blood on my hands.
[He is trying to make it all right again, but guilt is not something so easily swept away. It has motivated him in different forms throughout his lifetime — the same happens now, that guilt fueling his redemption. He exhales, a shaky thing.]
Maybe that is what bothers me the most.
[But in moments like these, he feels he can breathe. In her presence, maybe he can allow himself a small amount of reprieve. A tiny mote of selfishness.
It’s this thought that has him making a decision: to shift so that he’s lying on his side on the bench with his head in her lap. It works as a transition in the conversation, too, seeking out comfort from her where he can grant himself none.]
But you always make me feel... better. You are the best kind of distraction for a broken mind like my own. [Maybe she cannot see it, but his smile is rueful.]
Tell me of a story, from before we met. There is still so much of you that I do not know about.
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[she rests a hand over his side while the other lands on his head, brushing his hair back with light, feather-like touches.]
[her smile is small.]
[tell me a story, he says. byleth wants to refute back his previous statement, of how there is so much blood on his hands. there is just as much on her own, too, from when she was a mercenary. no one in this war was saintlier than any other.]
Would you like to know about when I was a kid?
[the memories... are painful, filled with regret. sometimes she wishes she could have cherished the times she spent with her father better, devoid of the apathy that she grew up with, with the indifference of having such a renown father figure that everyone wished to impress.]
[so she begins, light and gentle with her words.] I learned how to ride a horse when I was around eight. I always saw my father on one, and I wanted to be just like him. But — you know, I was even smaller back then. [her height and jeralt's never quite matched] So, he got me a pony. Bumkin, because I couldn't really pronounce Pumpkin right.
It made him laugh every time I rode past him in 'Bumkin,' most likely yelling out of fear from how fast I was going.
[byleth keeps brushing his blond hair gently, but swallows thickly.]
My growing up was a blur of days. [she thinks] If there is... anything specific you want to know about, you can ask.
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The sensation of her fingers running through his hair, brushing stray strands aside, is calming. Dimitri closes his eye, kept still by her warmth.]
I can imagine it well. You, galloping alongside your father while mounted on your faithful pony.
[He’s smiling more sincerely now. It really is an amusing thought, trying to imagine her so small, still learning.]
I was even younger when I rode my first horse. Many children in Faerghus are taught how to ride and wield a sword before they also learn how to write — royalty was especially no exception. My father… [It’s difficult, sometimes, speaking about happier times so openly. But just as Byleth shared with him, he will do the same. It’s only fair.] My father placed me atop a warhorse. I was terrified, it was so large, I clung to its mane the entire time he led it around the stables, reassuring me that it would be all right. That riding was in my blood, like so much else in the Blaiddyd line.
[He pauses, letting that settle. Memories weighing deeply on both of them.]
Your father taught you how to wield a sword too, didn’t he? Did you take to it with ease?
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[it's great, she thinks, to hear dimitri speak openly about his own memories of the past, as difficult as they are. the tragedy in duscur made conversations about his father and family a seldom affair, but since they're both sharing — it really is only fair.]
[and while happy it is a memory, it makes byleth... pause.]
[it seems like their pasts and present has been marred with responsibility and bloodshed and just what it means to walk the path set before them. she sees it even now, as dimitri will be crowned king and she will undoubtedly ascend to archbishop of the church of seiros. being taught to wield a sword, the blood that has covered the blades she's wielded, her own inability at saving her father although she could turn back time. she wishes for happier times, together.]
[with a small sigh and a nod, she keeps her face down to look at him, a sad look in her eyes.]
After all this is over, will you be at my side? I—
[she hesitates, closing her mouth and lips a thin line as she tries to find the words.]
I want to make a happy life — with you.
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When it comes, he opens his eye again, brow pinching. Her train of thought has taken her elsewhere, and while he often struggles to make the connections to follow, it’s far easier this time. Speaking of the past always leads to how one wants it to affect the future — he would know this better than anyone, now.
He shifts, turning to lay on his back. From this angle, he can see her face, gazing up at her with consideration. Her features are cast against the warm illumination of the greenhouse.]
Byleth. [In this moment, the title is dropped. No longer Professor and ex-student, or king-to-be and his loyal comrade and irreplaceable friend. Just Dimitri and Byleth, an intimacy between them that carves out this familiarity.] I do not plan on ever being without you. I…
[I want to make a happy life — with you. His heart may burst.]
You make me happy. Now, just being close with you like this; that is all it takes. From here on out, this will not change. [And yet, this is not just about him, it has not been for a long time now.] But I wish to be strong enough for you, as well. I want to make you happy. Make you laugh. I want to chase after your smile in every way possible. You have done so much for me, and I— I want to be able to return the favor.
If it is happiness you want, I will offer every part of myself to create it for you. It is what you deserve, and more.
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